


Love Crumpet

by tzigane, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Series: Love Crumpet [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Coercion, Confined/Caged, Desperation, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 22:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzigane/pseuds/tzigane, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a long moment, Mycroft Holmes just... looked at Sebastian. Looked at him, through him, and then smiled. It wasn't so much of a smile as it was a grimace of satisfaction. "Well. I suppose I could allow you to see him. If you honestly believe that is what you want."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Crumpet

Life had gone to hell since Jim had disappeared.

The worst part was that it was all part of a plan, but for the first time in his life, Sebastian was sure that Jim's plan had gone fucking sideways. He'd been reassured of that feeling as soon as he'd gotten a coffee from a street vender, and a passed note about someone adoring fucking his love crumpet.

God fucking dammit.

Weeks. Weeks of silence, and worry, and wondering where the fuck his boss was because he should have been free by now. They ought to have let him go, he should have made himself seem innocuous enough that they would have thought that it wasn't worth keeping him.

That had been an epic fucking failure.

He'd crumpled up the note, and stared hard at the seller. Then he'd started to pull every string, every fucking mole, every weak-kneed insider to find where Jim was.

He hadn't found him.

He'd spent a day cursing and breaking things -- his flat was a fuck-all mess, and he wasn't going to clean it. He'd hire someone to shovel it out and then move to one of Jim's places, because he was sure that Mycroft fucking Holmes probably knew his, and knew most of Jim's, but there was no reason not to be in sight at the moment. He had a fair fucking notion of exactly where Jim was, only it was a person and not a place, so finding him was... Difficult.

He just needed to get his hands on Mycroft Holmes and find out what the fuck the man wanted. He had to want something, because he was haunting and taunting the shit out of him for... some reason.

Maybe just for the fun of it. Jim probably would have done as much, but this was different because it _was_ and he fucking was going to get his own. He was going to drag Mycroft Holmes out into the fucking light and he was going to rip the answer right out of his fucking chest.

* * *

Twenty-three hundred, outside an expensive estate in Kensington. He'd walked, hopped the gate, but he wasn't stupid and knew, knew, that he was being followed, tracked. If not by actual human beings, then damned sure by cameras and probably satellites, knowing the sick fuck. He probably wanted video, to see Sebastian's face and his despair. He wasn't going to give him the enjoyment, not if he could help it.

He kept his face schooled and kept walking -- quietly, stalking across the grounds as if it did him a damn good at all. He circled around to the back of the building, eyeing the windows. He felt certain that Jim wasn't here already; that was too easy, too much like things going right. He was here to fuck with whatever peace of mind Mycroft Holmes had, or maybe just... he had no fucking idea, actually. Christ.

Christ, he had to figure it out, had to get Jim back, because if he didn't, he was pretty sure that he was going to end up like those guys in newscasts involved in presidential shootings. Up in the metaphorical clock tower, and maybe he could put Big Ben on the list. There was a whole line of monuments from which he could self-destruct. None of it would bring Jim back to him, so he just got in close to a building and started to check for a way to slip inside.

"You know, the easiest way is simply to walk through the front door. I am almost certain that Stanley would allow you inside. He is getting rather on in age. Sometimes, he does permit the most appalling persons access."

He held very still, but took a casual sort of stance about turning around to face the bastard. "Well, I didn't think I'd chance it. Hello, Mr. Holmes."

"Colonel Moran." He seemed so smug, standing there, his suit neat, umbrella in hand. Sometimes he thought the damned thing was permanently attached to the man's fingers because he always seemed to have one. "I'm sure that you can find your way out again, but perhaps I should escort you."

"I'm not leaving until I find him." And the man knew who he meant, just as much as he knew who Sebastian was. He kept his hands at his sides, balled into tight fists.

"Mmm, most unfortunate that you feel that way, Colonel. I am sure that you are aware that it will take a single motion to have you removed most forcibly."

He was so goddamned agreeable, as if this were nothing more than a social call. Sebastian closed his eyes for a moment, before focusing tightly on Mycroft. Threatening the man would do him no good. "I want him back. And you're fucking taunting me."

The incline of Mycroft's head was an acknowledgment, nothing more. "That is part of the enjoyment, I suppose. Mr. Moriarty, of course, being the more salient pleasure. He was absolutely certain that you would come any day. Naturally, he was mistaken. I must admit, his disappointment was intense." 

He could feel his jaw set tightly, staring hard at the man. No threats would work, no attempt to fight him right there would work. If he sniped him quietly, Jim would no doubt starve to death in whatever hole he was being kept. "What do you want me to do?"

"Oh." That head tilted to the side as if he was, in fact, considering the matter. "I feel sure I can come up with something. Perhaps we could institute a points system. You might even eventually win the freedom of your master, although I must confess that I am so enjoying his company. He is, after all, much safer in my keeping."

There was no point in mentioning that what Holmes was doing was illegal. It wouldn't get him anywhere. "I need... I'm not just going to leave him here."

The entire tone seemed to change in an instant; it was obvious why Jim called him the iceman, because the garden dropped ten degrees, he'd swear it. "You realize that it would be better for everyone considered if you did, Colonel. He is a very dangerous man, as I feel sure you know and understand. He is better left in my control, I assure you. Nonetheless, perhaps you could make yourself useful enough to free him. Eventually."

"I want to see him. Before I.... do whatever you want, I need proof he's still alive." And still Jim. Just a hint of reassurance was all he needed.

Holmes placed his umbrella just so, hands neatly clasping the handle, and seemed to consider the matter. "I suppose I could deliver bloody digits to you if you feel the need."

"That's unnecessary." He watched the man's easy, relaxed posture, the fact that he was fucking delighting in it, that he was probably having the best moment of his damn day, standing there with Colonel Sebastian Moran on the hook.

For a long moment, Mycroft Holmes just... looked at him. Looked at him, through him, and then smiled. It wasn't so much of a smile as it was a grimace of satisfaction. "Well. I suppose I could allow you to see him. If you honestly believe that is what you want."

He was giving the man something he wanted when he said yes, and it wasn't going to be good, Sebastian knew that. But he still agreed to it because, fuck, it was Jim. "Yes."

"How honestly delightful." Christ, that was terrifying, and the faint crook of Holmes's fingers as he gestured made Sebastian wish like fuck that he had retained the good sense required to set up better contingency plans.

Much better contingency plans.

Cyanide embedded teeth contingency plans, except that never would have worked with Jim. He gritted his teeth too much and bit for the hell of it. Sebastian grimly moved to follow the man, and hoped to hell that it wasn't the worst idea he'd ever had.

* * *

How very _charming_.

Having one little captive pet had been quite the enjoyment. He was certain that having two would be delectable.

The man's bottled rage and frustration might make him strangle himself for the hint of cooperation he was giving, and the cooperation Mycroft decided he was going to make the man give. He still hadn't plucked apart all of Moriarty's motivations, but he had a feeling that Mr. Moran was going to be easy to toy with and even easier to push into all of the things that Mycroft wanted him to do.

Such a shame that he had so little time for pleasure. Perhaps he would need to take a day for himself.

Or even two.

There was a whole world to run and juggle, but he had to admit it was easier to spare a night or two now that he knew where Moriarty was. A quiet glass of wine, a failed attempt to bait the man into discussion, and he looked so good on his knees all wrapped up in restraints.

With a deft twist of his wrist, he poured himself a brandy, the crackle-pop of wood and the scent of the smoke from the fireplace pleasing to him. He drew in a deep breath and smiled. "I don't suppose you would indulge, Colonel."

He imagined Moran would look quite nice in restraints as well. Two of them side by side, like angry cock-hungry cor-- no, no, no, that thought wouldn't do at all, but it was something with which Mycroft might amuse himself. He'd actually have a fight on his hands with Moran. "I suppose I'll need it at some point tonight. Thank you."

Pouring another, he turned smoothly to offer it to Colonel Moran. There was no question that he would have reasonably good taste. It had been bred into him. Still, it was nice to think that he might enjoy it. "Of course."

He watched as the man took a slow sip, and gave an appreciative sigh, rubbing fingers at the edge of his jaw. "Bugger, that's good. I'm not as sharp as Jim, but I do know where this is headed."

Mycroft smiled, eyes sliding from the man's feet up to the grimace on his face. "Of course you do. Your faults have never lain with your intelligence, despite the fact that it is so clearly... less than some."

"Can't say any of you ever fought fair." He was no doubt having a multitude of regrets that he hadn't gone off to become a big game hunter in Africa, or at least stayed on to keep training the military set, which they would have likely found palatable after a year away from him. Mycroft mostly considered what he wanted to have the man do first.

"What would be the point? Fighting fair. It does seem to be quite the most ridiculous notion imaginable. Much better to fight so that one wins, don't you think?" Oh yes, and before this was all over, he would be the ultimate winner.

How enjoyable.

"Doesn't matter what I think right now." He looked grim, grim and resigned, and that was almost better than the anger, to watch a man who could get away with everything realize he was nothing. Moran took another sip of his brandy, and Mycroft watched him, seating himself and slowly crossing his legs.

"No," he agreed, quiet and even. "No, in fact, it doesn't matter what you think at the moment. Not in the least. Do finish your drink. Take your time."

He sat down opposite of Mycroft, perched on the edge of a grand old leather chair as if he was on tenterhooks, ready to bolt at any moment. Mycroft could see the muscles of his legs flex quite attractively.

"You're in no hurry, hmn?"

He shook his head slowly. "Is there any reason why I should be?" None came immediately to mind. The enjoyment of the moment was something that often bypassed others for some reason.

Baffling, to pass up the exquisite wait, the way Moran's tension strung tight across the room, ready to snap. "For you personally? Not at all."

"Mmmm." Hum of agreement, and he sipped from his glass and waited patiently, saying nothing. Often, that was all it took to put others off of their game, and he had all the time in the world. Inevitably, he would get exactly what he was waiting for so long as he remained patient.

Moran at least held out until he finished his glass of brandy, but there was no question that Moriarty might teach a man to learn some patience. "I'd like to see Jim."

Ah, yes. "And I would like to see you. So, if you don't mind." He waved one hand lightly, indicating exactly what he wanted.

"Is this your first time collecting people who've crossed you to fuck them over?" He set his glass on the sideboard, polite and precise, and then shrugged out of his jacket.

"Oh, no. Perhaps the most enjoyable thus far, however, as you are both quite attractive specimens, and I by far prefer the company of men." Placing his fingertips against one another, Mycroft steepled his hands. "The ladies almost always begin to cry when they reach this point. Well. With a few notable exceptions."

He could almost see Moran filing that information away, though it would do him no good. Moran unbuckled his belt, sliding it out with little show before he started to unbutton his shirt. He was rather perfunctory about it, not at all entertaining the way Moriarty had been early on. Well, before several of the episodes in the back of the car, of course, although Mycroft wasn't fool enough to think he was in any way docile just because he had stopped reacting somewhat. He was sure that the addition of his henchman would certainly liven him up. Moran seemed bland about it, and it made Mycroft make a note to look into his dossier a little deeper. Possibly he'd had a few arrangements like that in the past. There was a faint rise in the man's colour as he shrugged out of his shirt, and paused to toe off his shoes, and then he dropped his pants and his trousers at once.

My, my. He could certainly see exactly why Moriarty kept him around, aside from the truly excellent assassination skills. A man could certainly come to appreciate such a remarkable specimen, and he sat and watched until it became apparent that the colonel was becoming a bit uncomfortable. "On your knees."

Keeping him on his toes was best, off balance, because military men did have a tendency to strike back when least expected. Well, or when Mycroft most expected, but still, they did try and he had to credit them somewhat for the persistence. Moran dropped to his knees smoothly, hands at his sides. "Any other requests?"

"I expect you know exactly what to do from your current position." He didn't even bother moving, just waited.

There was a pause of almost the exact perfectly appropriate length, before the man began to knee-walk towards Mycroft, settling a hand on his knees. "Since you're already sprawled out."

"Well. I certainly believe our current position implies exactly what one would expect, given the situation." Ordinary humans were so amusing sometimes.

That determined expression didn't fade. The man was far too calm for the moment that would follow to upset him, far too determined to see his personal god than to mind what was in the way. Moran was a classical sort of good looking, all muscle and scars and tanned skin, a white band showing at his hips and parts of his thighs. It was frankly delicious to see, and to know that those calm, self-possessed hands unfastening his fly could take a life without so much as flinching.

Having a pet assassin was such a charming concept. He had no problem with paying one, of course, but having his own on collar and leash held such appeal. After all, most assassins were hunted in their own countries, not invited to country clubs and allowed to socialize with the rest of the moneyed set. He could no doubt make more grounds against the man in sheer humiliation. Later, when he had time. If he thought Moriarty played hard, he was in for a surprise.

There was a brief glance upwards before he slid a hand into Mycroft's pants, fingers wrapping slowly around him to pull him out.

He imagined that was something that had been learned at the feet of a master, so to speak. He wouldn't know how skilful Moriarty might be with his mouth; he hadn't been stupid enough to stick his cock in that mouth. "Hmmm." He'd had plenty of experience with the man's ass -- pert, delightful as it was -- but this was leeway he couldn't trust to risk with Moriarty. Sebastian began to work it slowly, slurping a little, wet suction as he seemed to get comfortable with what he was doing. There was something missing, without the tears, but that usually caused the technique to suffer. 

For some reason, people seemed to find it difficult to breathe through tears.

Sighing, Mycroft leaned his head back against his chair and prepared to enjoy himself thoroughly. It just felt amazing, lazy and comfortable as he seemed to get quite into it -- sucking harder, taking in more and more until he was willingly deep-throating Mycroft, swallowing around him as he went down, swallowing and breathing in air as he pulled back. It made his balls tighten, made him want to squirm.

No matter how undignified squirming might be.

Reaching down to fist his fingers in dark blond locks wasn't undignified, though; no, that felt perfect and delicious, and he breathed a little heavier when the suction increased. The man could undoubtedly suck a golf ball through a garden hose. It was fantastic. He could shoot a target at a thousand meters and suck cock like a dirty whore, which was more than enough reason to go through the trouble of keeping him subdued and on a leash. Moran slid his fingers into Mycroft's pants, and started to play with his balls, rolling them slowly as he kept at it.

Moriarty must have one hell of a fetish about cock-sucking for Moran to be this well-trained. Just the thought of it was almost enough to get him off, and for one moment, he had to hold his breath and get himself under control again. The man pulled back despite the fingers in his hair, let Mycroft's cock rest against his bottom lip for a moment before he asked, "Do you want me to stop?" There was just a hint of rough to his voice, of needing to swallow and catch his breath.

No. No, he didn't. It was one spectacular bit of fellatio, and what he wanted more than anything was... "If you wouldn't mind opening the left top drawer of the desk. There should be a ring there. Do be a good boy and bring it back, won't you?"

He'd expected some bit of reaction to the good boy remark, but there was only a micro expression that quite clearly conveyed that Moran was nothing but, before he shifted and stood up to rummage Mycroft's desk drawer. He came back with it held between two fingers, eyebrows raised a little as he knelt back down between Mycroft's sprawled legs again.

A nod gave him permission, and he watched as Moran slid the thick ring over his cock, pushing it to the base, hand firm just above it before he leaned down to take it in his mouth again.

Perfect.

The best part had to be somewhere between his technique and his understanding of just where the power lay -- with Mycroft. No arguing, just following his lead, and sucking, god, sucking and slurping, just enough of a show to make Mycroft grateful he was wearing the ring.

It was difficult, not coming. He had to make an effort at it, and he could honestly say he would prefer otherwise, but clearly it would be insulting to the sheer talent being exhibited. Rewarding talent with appreciation was the proper thing to do, and so he managed for quite some time. Long minutes, and by the time he got close, almost too close, Moran's jaw had to be killing him.

He shifted his hand away from where it had threaded into his hair again. "You can remove it now."

He pulled back, swallowed visibly, and slowly worked the ring up over Mycroft's swollen dick. It ached, but the man didn't hesitate or wait before taking him in to the root again, and there was no way to put off coming any longer. His orgasm had been sitting on the backs of his teeth, and when the man hummed faintly around him, he was lost.

Explosive pleasure, so intense that he nearly blacked out, and oh. Oh, he was keeping this one, regardless. He was keeping him, because he swallowed and sat back, rubbing fingers at the edge of his mouth as if testing what his lips felt like after all of that work. He didn't say a word yet, though Mycroft could tell that there were smart things hovering at the back of his head.

How delicious.

With a glance, he ordered the man, and he obeyed, reaching out to tuck and zip and button. Moriarty did have him terribly well-trained, and that made him smile at the thought. "I suppose you would like to see your little master now."

He watched a muscle on the man's jaw twitch as he leaned back, still kneeling. "Yeah, I would." And it wasn't as if it were much of a threat. He had the man completely unarmed now.

Both of them, in fact.

Feeling indulgent, he smiled. "Follow the entranceway past the music room and take the stairs. I shall call ahead and inform the guards that you should be allowed to pass."

Sebastian Moran paused, not quite to standing up just yet, watching Mycroft. "I might as well have just marched into New Scotland Yard and declared myself an axe murderer. Bugger." Yes, and yet he was standing up. "Is this pants optional as well?"

"Feel free to put them back on, of course." After such excellent service, some sort of reward did seem necessary. It was best to start as he intended to continue.

Sometimes the extra effort was worth it because the victim was so keenly aware of his situation. Moran didn't particularly take his time getting dressed, but it was quite obvious that he was unarmed by the time he slipped on his shoes, and looked to Mycroft again before following the directions out to the hallway.

Leaning back, Mycroft pressed his hands together again and sighed with pleasure, allowing his eyes to slip shut. Surely after such excellent work deserved at the very least a five minute power nap, and so he quietly indulged.

* * *

He knew that he'd made a deal with the devil the moment he'd agreed to come inside. He'd weakened his position immensely, and maybe. Maybe possibly strengthened Jim's. It was hard to guess until he got in to see Jim, following the instructions that took him up the stairs to the locked upper floor.

Christ.

There were two heavily armed guards outside the door. They looked like something out of science fiction -- black suits, white shirts, black ties, big guns. Sunglasses were the only thing missing, although the way they looked at him wouldn't have been any more or less inscrutable. Bastian wondered what they would do to him when he reached for the doorknob, but neither one of them moved.

It made him curious how Mycroft was passing messages to his people -- or perhaps they'd knew he was coming from the moment he'd set foot in the building. The doorknob turned easily under his hand, and he stepped into the room.

"Boss?" Funny. It didn't look much like a prison cell. It looked more like some kind of bizarre princess themed kid's room, and he had no idea how Jim could stay in it without ripping the entire place apart. That scared him more than he was comfortable with being afraid, and he stepped further inside, looking for him. "Jim?"

He took three paces into the space, and turned towards the white-painted closet door with the gold lavalier handle. "Jim?" If he wasn't in there, he was going to tear the place apart on his own. Still... closet.

He pushed the handle down, and pulled it open smoothly.

And there he was.

He didn't look much like himself; he was thinner, paler, staring into the space where Bastian stood. He looked... bruised, and something in Bastian squeezed unpleasantly when he looked away again.

He crouched down in front of him, reached a hand out to touch his shoulder. "Jim? Boss. C'mon." It wasn't like they were going anywhere, but Christ, hiding in a small closet wasn't an improvement.

An annoyed push of his arm also got him a scowl. "Thinking." And not talking, yeah, but he'd seen this. Jim had a weird affinity for dark spaces, and he'd squirrel away sometimes. Usually when he felt overwhelmed.

He swallowed and stayed still, crouched down and watching Jim. Well, if their odds had just shifted, if he'd traded a bad position for something worse, he'd also given Jim a whole new set of factors to work with against the elder Holmes.

The faint rocking didn't say anything good, either, and when Jim reached out and touched his wrist, wrapped his fingers around them as though it somehow soothed him, Bastian's hair stood on end.

"We're fucked." Jim sounded more Irish than usual, the light lilt turned heavier. "You should have stayed away."

"I wasn't getting anywhere from outside." He shrugged his shoulders, and added softly, "And he was already watching every bloody move I made."

Jim nodded. "I miscalculated."

That was actually the most terrifying thing he had ever heard, and he'd heard a lot of fucking scary things. Christ. Okay, he could deal with that. He licked his bottom lip, and reached the fingers of his other hand to touch Jim's cheek. "On Holmes? Yeah. Never classed him as a sex pervert."

That laugh was all ground glass, and he turned his face into that touch. "You have no idea." That from Jim, who liked it rough, who wasn't averse to blood, mostly when it was someone else's. Yeah.

He stroked his fingers, a slow motion as he leaned in, curling the fingers of his other hand against Jim's shoulder. "Okay. Maybe this'll alleviate it a bit."

Thing was... it was stupid, how he felt about the boss. He was pretty sure Jim Moriarty wasn't capable of feeling the same way, and he didn't care, but when Jim curled into him, it made his breath stop. "Stupid."

"Probably, yeah." It was worth the sore jaw to settle in against Jim, his shoulder braced against the edge of the doorjamb. He'd stay there as long as he was allowed. It was probably all giving Mycroft time to make plans, and while he was a capable soldier, he also wasn't fucking Rambo. Two former SAS men with guns was more than enough to tilt the odds badly.

Jim was warm at his side, smelled like he needed a bath, and Bastian didn't much care. He wrapped his arm around those thin shoulders, and for a while, it was just... nice. A relief to feel him there, and maybe a relief for Jim, too. Who the fuck knew, but it was a new dimension. Maybe Jim would make something of it, given some time.

Maybe.


End file.
